


Mistake

by Johniarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Hallucinations, Overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/pseuds/Johniarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock reflects on his last overdose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an RP blog of mine. It was my first attempt at writing Sherlock in the first person point of view. I, um. I hope I did alright. I did do research for this, on the effects of injected cocaine overdose, and minor seizures.

I have made a lot of mistakes in my life. It takes a lot for me to admit that. I hope you understand.

The worst was during the second year. After the Fall. In Amsterdam. I was tailing a man by the name of De Wall, a fence for high-price items in Moriarty’s employ. All of my plans had fallen apart; Mycroft sent me a photo of John. I was distracted, my mind racing, unable to let go of the meager information I was able to glean from it. Careless. Reckless. _Sentiment._ They saw me. I had to rush back to the warehouse I was squatting in, running across the crowded city as bullets blew past me. There were screams. I had to get to safety if I ever wanted to see London again. When I managed to reach the safe house, only one urge echoed through my mind. Locked in the office, heart pounding in my chest, I found my bag of supplies.

It was clean. It was pure. It was stronger than I anticipated. Tying myself off was almost an automatic response at this point. When the needle entered my vein, when I pressed the plunger, I realized too late that I hadn’t measured.

When it began to kick in, the usual euphoria coursing through me, I was able to breathe easily for the first time since my phone had buzzed that morning. I forgot the near misses, I forgot the fear, I forgot everything.

Almost everything. Some things I could never forget.

I went over my mistakes in my head, fixed them in mere seconds, plotted an entirely new course. _Lay low for three days. No disguises. There’s an apartment complex apart from the nightclub he frequents. Highest level, rifle in the window. He will leave at three forty-six in the morning. One shot, and then I vanish. A shadow._

It began to burn.

My eyes opened and the room swam beneath my gaze. It looked like home; the only home that mattered to me, at any rate. Baker Street. The couch was soft beneath my back, and John… My legs were resting on his lap, and he was smiling. At me, of all things.

_Took you long enough._

“John?”

_Yes, Sherlock. I’m here. And you are too- it’s about bloody time. Gave us all a fright. Thought you were dead._

“I… am…”

John snorted. _The hell, you are. I’m not going to lie, I want to push you off Bart’s myself for all the shit you put me through. Broke my heart, you did. My best friend, bleeding on the cement…_

“I had to, John. They were going to kill you. Kill everyone. Moriarty gave me no choice.”

_I know. I know, Sherlock. You did what you had to do. You always do what you have to do. You don’t think about us, the people left in your wake._

I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous. You were all I thought about; that’s why I worked so hard to make it realistic. I gave you clues, you know. It’s not my fault you weren’t clever enough to pick up on them.”

_Sherlock, what’s done is done. What matters is that you’re back… you’re back, and we can start over._ John reached forward and placed his finger in the hollow of my lips.

_Hello._

Despite myself, I smiled. “Hello, John,” I whispered against his skin. 

_You never did see me, Sherlock. Not really. I’m your blind spot. One might even say I’m your weakness. Jim always went for me, after all. Always._

“No, I saw you. Have you already forgotten so readily? The moment we met, I read your life story from your body. You were a book, one full of surprises. You kept me guessing.”

John rolled his eyes at me and settled back against the sofa, his dark blue gaze almost mischievous. _Believe me, Mister Holmes, you’ve never ‘read my life story from my body’. I was never interested, and you… well, everything else is transport, remember? You’re more than welcome to imagine, though. Have you ever seen my scar?_

Had I? I couldn’t remember. I didn’t think so… even fresh from the shower, John draped himself in a dressing gown. Never shirtless in the flat, never completely. Not while I could see.

Right?

“It’s hot in here, John.”

_Sherlock._

My threadbare clothing was damp with sweat, sticking to my emaciated frame. I tried to rise, but the doctor pushed me back.

_Sherlock, did you… are you high?_

Even in my state, I felt the familiar self-loathing rising in me. I couldn’t let John see, he couldn’t know how weak I was without him. How low I got when I was alone. Pathetic Sherlock Holmes, his plan fell apart and so he turned to the needle…

But I would have gotten to go home, if I had hidden myself better.

Couldn’t anyone understand that? I could have been _home._

“No,” I managed to choke out. “I haven’t. You know I’ve been clean for-“

_Aren’t you tired of lying to me, Sherlock? Did you at least bring Benzodiazepine?_

“A drug used to cease and counteract the damage from seizures? No, I didn’t. That… Fuck.”

John’s eyes were sad as he moved closer, folding my legs up to my knees. _Sherlock… Dammit, I’m your doctor, and I need to take care of you. Do you know how hard you make my job? You should have known better. You’re brilliant; why didn’t you think of that?_

I couldn’t form a response. He was right. I should have brought some, just in case. Stupid, stupid.

He was lifting my eyelids, checking my dilation. His hands were cool against my sweat-slicked skin. I thought about his mouth, wondered how it would taste, wondered how many women he’d kissed. When he looked down at me, I found it hard to breathe.

_Transport,_ he whispered with a chuckle, and then he pressed his lips to mine.

And my entire body went rigid.

It was cruel, being unable to lose consciousness as my body seized, teeth snapping together, every muscle tense and spasming. I tried to prise my jaw apart, to get something to protect my tongue, but it would not respond. Everything was agony.

It lasted five minutes, but it felt like hours. All I could do was lay on the cement after it passed, sweating and retching, tears streaming down my face. To this day I cannot remember if they were from the pain or the hallucination. Coming out of the attack to find myself in some anonymous hellhole was terrible.

I had been home. I had thought I was home.

I threw out the rest of my supply after that, keeping only the morphine for the sleepless nights. I knew many more lay ahead of me.

I was correct.


End file.
